


it's like running in circles up unending floors (yet you wait)

by knoxoursavior



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Post-Canon, Pre-Garden of Light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 18:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16497617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knoxoursavior/pseuds/knoxoursavior
Summary: Pain and blissful ignorance, two sides of the same coin that is Eiji—that is what Sing expects to come home to because that is what he has come to expect.But no.No, this time, it’s only pain that he finds.Or: Sing and Eiji, five years after





	it's like running in circles up unending floors (yet you wait)

**Author's Note:**

> i Know im supposed to be writing the college au but i missed sing/eiji so i wrote this :~(

Every year, the anniversary of Ash’s death passes without acknowledgement from Eiji. Every year, Sing asks Eiji if he wants to visit Ash’s grave, and every year, Eiji pretends like he doesn’t even hear it.

And it’s fine. It’s  _ fine _ . Sing goes by himself. He goes to the cemetery, lays a single yellow rose on the dirt atop Ash’s body, and he stands there and apologizes once again because Eiji isn’t with him. He stands there for hours and he tells Ash how Eiji’s doing, glosses over all the pictures, all the memories that Eiji keeps locked in a box, glosses over all the quiet nights now that Eiji’s learned to keep himself quiet when he cries.

Then, Sing goes to the public library and he lays another yellow rose on the bottom step of the staircase leading up to it. He doesn’t go inside, never goes inside because the image of Ash in his usual seat, blood caked on his clothes and his cold, pale skin—that image is seared into Sing’s memory, refusing to be forgotten. Sing might have claimed Ash’s computer as his project, might have claimed Ash’s Eiji as his to protect, but he isn’t enough of a masochist to go inside the library and relive that awful, horrible day he found Ash’s body.

Only after all that does he come back to Eiji’s apartment, to a dinner just like every other night, to Eiji, waiting with Buddy who doesn’t know any better. Then, they eat and they chat and they talk about anything but Ash. Then, they pretend like it’s just a normal night after a normal day, like Sing hadn’t been carving his heart out and laying it out to dry the entire fucking day.

Whoever said that pain gets better with time is wrong, because it  _ doesn’t _ . Because in Sing’s experience, it hasn’t, even after five long,  _ long _ years. There’s always the same old ache in his chest that ignites every time he hears Ash’s name, every time he’s faced with something that makes him think,  _ I wish I could have asked Ash what he would have done in my place _ , every time he sees Eiji shut down and get that look in his eyes that can mean nothing else but  _ Ash Ash Ash. _

And no matter how Eiji tries to hide, no matter how Eiji tries to distance himself from Ash’s death, he’s the one who holds Ash closest to his chest, the one who cannot,  _ will not  _ let go or even consider it for a second. Pain and blissful ignorance, two sides of the same coin that is Eiji—that is what Sing expects to come home to because that is what he has come to expect.

But no.

No, this time, it’s only pain that he finds.

The first sign that something’s wrong is the silence.

“Eiji?” Sing calls out, but there’s no answer. Just the ticking of the clock and the sounds of cars rushing by pouring in from outside.

Because they usually eat dinner together, Eiji always tells him if he’s going to be out late, but Sing doesn’t find a note on the dining table, nor are there any missed calls on his phone. But he doesn’t let it get to him. Not the worry growing in the pit of his stomach or the guilt clawing at his chest, making itself known once again.

The silence does, though, just a little bit.

It’s never this quiet in Eiji’s apartment. There’s always the TV playing in the background, the sounds of Eiji cooking or eating or tapping his foot against the floor as he reads. There’s always white noise to cover up the bleak, heavy silence, because without it, Eiji drowns.

Sing isn’t usually bothered by it, not really. He has classes to worry about, business meetings, helping Yut-lung make sure everything’s running smoothly in Chinatown. He has  _ Eiji  _ to worry about.

But now, already so worn and exhausted after a long, long day, the silence wears on him. It gives way to doubt, to worry and regret. Maybe he shouldn’t have left Eiji alone, shouldn’t have let him spend this day by himself. Maybe he should have stayed and looked after him, because isn’t that what Ash would have wanted? Eiji was always more important to Ash than anything else, more important than Banana Fish, more important than his own life. If Sing let anything happen to Eiji, on the anniversary of Ash’s death no less, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to forgive himself.

The climb up the stairs feels like it takes ages, even though Sing is all but running, rushing to see if Eiji’s alright.

When Sing opens the door to Eiji’s room, he sees Eiji curled up in his bed. Buddy is beside him, pawing at his back, whining, and there’s a bottle broken into sharp, jagged pieces on the floor, stained with something much too dark for sake.

Sing freezes for a moment, freezes because he’s never seen Eiji like this, not really, or at the very least, not in a long time. Maybe when Eiji first came back to New York the same week he left, maybe the first few weeks after the funeral, when Eiji was still staying over at Sing’s and the boys were taking turns looking after him. Maybe when the pain was still too fresh for Eiji to hide it—maybe then, but Sing hasn’t seen Eiji cry for so long, and he definitely hasn’t seen Eiji drink himself into a stupor like this, not ever.

Eiji’s facing away from the door, but his shoulders are clearly shaking, the lines of his body tense, taut. Sing’s afraid that if he reaches out to touch him, Eiji will crack, break down into all the little pieces like his heart already is.

So Sing doesn’t. Not yet, anyway.

He runs back downstairs, gets a glass of water and a plastic bag from the kitchen and the first aid kit from the washroom, and then he rushes back upstairs to Eiji’s room. He cleans up the bottle first, puts all the broken glass into the plastic bag that he throws away immediately, wipes off what he can of Eiji’s blood off the rug until he realizes they’re just going to have to get a new one.

Then, finally, he crawls into Eiji’s bed, positions himself so that he and Buddy bracket Eiji, surround him. Eiji’s face is half-hidden under his hair, now long enough that it reaches past his shoulders, but what of his cheeks that Sing can see is stained with tears and blood, and so are his hands, clutching at the fabric of his shirt over his heart.

Sing wonders how long he’s been lying there, crying, wonders how long Eiji has had to suffer like this today. But wondering won’t do either of them any good, so instead, Sing reaches out, tugs gently at Eiji’s arms until Eiji finally relents and lets Sing see what’s happened to him.

Sing takes his time cleaning up Eiji’s skin, wiping off the blood until there aren’t any traces of it left. He treats Eiji’s wound, a cut that runs across the palm of his right hand, thankfully not deep enough that he needs to go to the hospital, but even when that’s done, Sing doesn’t let go of Eiji.

He keeps a loose hold on Eiji’s uninjured hand. No pressure, no expectations—he just holds Eiji’s hand and hopes it reminds Eiji that he’s not alone.

“You should drink some water,” Sing says.

But Eiji doesn’t reply, and when Sing brushes away his hair from his face, he isn’t looking at Sing either. He’s just staring into space, his wide open, unfocused. It breaks Sing’s heart, seeing Eiji like this. It makes him sad, makes him angry, makes him want to go looking for a fight just so he can feel anything but. It makes him want to take Eiji into his arms, makes him want to reach into Eiji and take for himself all of the hurt and the loneliness that must be clinging so cruelly to Eiji’s heart.

Except Eiji doesn’t want to be held by Sing. Except Sing isn’t the one Eiji wants bursting into his room, patching him back into who he used to be. Sing knows that, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to just leave Eiji here.

Sing slips an arm under Eiji, coaxes him to sit up. He places the rim of the glass against Eiji’s lips, says, “You need to drink water before you can rest, Eiji. Please.”

When Sing tips the glass upwards, Eiji drinks, thankfully. Buddy, who’s quieted down ever since Sing arrived, inserts himself into the space between Sing and Eiji. He sits there, nosing at Eiji’s side until Sing puts the glass back down on the nightstand and finally gives him a scratch between his ears that he deserves.

“You can sleep now, Eiji,” Sing says. He pushes Eiji back down, tucks the blanket around him as much as he can with only one hand and with a dog in the way. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

But when Sing tries to pull his hand back from where he’s holding Eiji’s, he finds that he can’t. Eiji’s clinging to it, holding tight so suddenly like Sing is a lifeline he’s finally got his grip on.

When Sing looks up at Eiji, he finds Eiji looking back, finally.

“Stay,” Eiji says.

Sing doesn’t even have to think about it.

“Okay.”

He stays and he falls asleep there, with Buddy’s back pressed against his thigh and Eiji’s hand clasped with his between them.

  
  


Sing wakes up to a cold, empty bed, but when he comes downstairs, he finds Eiji in the kitchen, cooking.

Eiji smiles at him that morning, and Sing thinks—

Maybe it’s okay to pretend.

**Author's Note:**

> apparently yellow roses can mean freedom and i hate that
> 
> also hi hmu on [tumblr](http://singeiji.tumblr.com) :~)


End file.
